Harry Potter and the Badger's Thrash
by Mashu the Assassin
Summary: 19 years after the death of Voldemort, a greater power has appeared after a millennium of dormancy. Gathering power and allies, it has only one goal: the destruction of all of magic. Harry Potter, with all his friends and family behind him, must face the greatest threat to the magical world it has ever known: Hadrian is coming.


**Harry Potter and the Badger's Thrash by Mashu_the_Assassin**

**Chapter 1: Overture**

The ghost known as the Bloody Baron thought about his true name as he floated through the halls of Hogwarts at midnight. It was a name he didn't like to mention, a trait he had in common with his unrequited love Helena Ravenclaw (known as the Grey Lady to the students). It bought an aspect to his existence he didn't like, a legacy that was poisonous even now, and so he took the student's nickname 'Bloody Baron' with relish, like a vaudevillian. A madvillain. He method-acted the part, hamming it up in the private of those who were apart of his house (he held the proud distinction of being the only known person to ever make the late Severus Snape laugh, even if it was a small chuckle). He terrified Peeves into good behavior, he threw himself into Halloween festivities just as much as the most dedicated of the living, and he enjoyed his morbid reputation. It was really the only way he could forget the shame he felt. The shame of being Alistair Slytherin.

Yes, he was Slytherin's son. Son of a great witch, brother to two as well. Ancestor of countless of the finest magicians in the British isles, but 'Slytherin' still. It was a name mistrusted since Tom Riddle had twisted it to mirror the worse of his father's attributes into a house that was mistrusted at best and hated at worst. As if the others were better: At their worst, Gryffindor embodied jockish brutalism, Ravenclaw pretentiousness, and Hufflepuff mediocrity and desperation. Still, he would wait it out like he always did. Slytherin was simply at a low point. All the houses went through it. It went in cycles. He was there at every low point since he began haunting his alma mater, and he'd be there until Hogwarts was no more, though he doubted that would ever happen.

He was awoken from his waking dream of thoughts when he heard a sound, like a scraping chair, in the great hall, then the great whoosh of many fires roaring to life. That immediately became cause for concern: it was August, the middle of August at that, in the middle of the night. No one was here except for the ghosts, and Peeves couldn't light all the floating candles that quickly. At least, Alistair thought he couldn't. Peeves was very small scale. He was alone a nuisance, and it took pranksters like the Marauders or the Weasley Twins to truly inspire his best (worst?) work and turn an above-average poltergeist into a menace. But that age of pranksters had long since gone (though the surviving Weasley twin kept at it through his accursed joke shop, the products of which students smuggled in as if they were Muggle drugs). He thought about giving up this time, leaving Peeves to his own machinations and letting him see the consequences of his actions for once, but Alistar knew he had a duty and an obligation as the only one who could keep Peeves in line to see what he was up to. He floated to the great hall and, as he passed through the hall, he prepared his mightiest, greatest bellow of "Peeves, stop what you're doing at once!" when he stopped, dead in the air (alive in the air?).

Alistair couldn't believe his eyes.

It couldn't be.

It was impossible.

The Great Hall was lit, the candles illuminating everything in warm light like as if it came off halos, each candle roaring so strong a hurricane would be needed to put even one out. There was a small plate of food in the center of the teachers table, the headmaster's table. A steak, mashed yams, a glass of milk, and asparagus, all grilled and heavily salted. This wasn't like the mouthwatering food of the house-elf's; on closer inspection, it was burnt at some parts, and there was no steam coming from it. It probably had not been seasoned or marinated closely and with meticulous detail with a key eye for presentation. It was economical, basic, food made by a human. This was food made by the person sitting and eating it. Said person looked up, and then Alistar realized it had to be impossible.

"You." he spoke, barely a whisper.

The person sitting at that table, eating that food, Alistair knew, could not be the person that it looked like. It was impossible. There was no way for him to be alive. Horcruxes were out, as his body was the same. The Philosopher's Stone hadn't been made when he last saw this person, he hadn't suffered the effects of unicorn blood, and there was no other method that he had heard in the last millennium that could possibly explain this.

But there he was.

The person finished his meal, and looked up. It was a young man, perhaps 19, with silver blonde hair that was almost white that flowed down to his neck and grazed long, feminine eyelashes. His pale form was skinny, and dark green eyes looked out at him. He wore no wizard cloak or hat, but muggle clothes, a dark gold long sleeve shirt, heavy black boots, and dark blue (what were they called? jeans?) as his pants. He nodded.

"Yes, Alistar. It's me."

Alistar felt as if he could weep. "I...I thought you were dead!" he said. "Why aren't you dead? You haven't aged a day."

"That would be telling." he said. He smiled. Pure white teeth shone in the light. "Now, then," he said, standing. "Hug me, Alistar."

Alistair did so, and though he didn't make physical contact, he felt the feeling, the emotion, the warmth of the hug, feelings he held tightly as to never forget. As they separated, the young man sat down again, and Alistar felt compelled to ask a question.

"Hadrian, why have you appeared, after so many centuries?"

The one known as Hadrian paused, and thought for a bit, wondering how to phrase the answer to the question. Then, his eyes lit up. "I've come back, Alistar," he began, as he improved his posture, "because I feel that it's time to accomplish what I set out to do after The Incident."

Alistar, if he could, would have turned even whiter. "The Incident?" He asked.

"Yes, the Incident."

"Which Incident?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about. The one where our lives became a tragedy by Zola."

"Who?"

"Muggle author. I met him about a century ago. Brilliant man." Hadrian explained.

"You...you've been among Muggles?" Alistair spoke this as if Hadrian had said he had spent his time away from the wizarding world in the deepest part of the ocean, or constantly in a woman's bed.

"What?" Hadrian said, shrugging. "Don't tell me Salazar's prejudices still hold on to you, Alistair?"

"No." enforced Alistair, "I am not my father. I am like him in many ways, but not in the ways that matter."

"So why do you care about my lifestyle?" Hadrian asked.

"It's because, Hadrian, no one knew where you were! All the wizarding communities in the world wanted to know where you were, all of them wanted your talent, your skills, your charms, your devotions...and you disappeared! Why?"

Hadrian became serious. "I discovered, Alistair, when I left," he said. "That Muggles, which were dismissed as common and weak, are actually far more interesting than they appear. In fact, I like them more than the wizarding community."

Alistair didn't know how to react. "So...you were among them for a thousand years?" he questioned.

"Indeed." Hadrian confirmed. "I was there. When the Crusades happened, when The Renaissance happened, the American, French, Russian, and Japanese revolutions. I was there when a young Gellert Grindwald manipulated a muggle named Adolf Hitler into power. I was there when Napoleon was stopped when Russia took its magicians and turned them into the greatest warriors in the world. I was there in Salem, when John Proctor sacrificed himself to save the American magic practitioners. I took up a sword and stood by John Brown and started the American civil war. I was there when Karl Marx created communism, and when Sigmund Freud discovered the talking cure. I was there when Leonardo da Vinci painted a great beauty, and helped Michelangelo paint the greatest mural of all. I was there when four young boys from England revolutionized what music could be. I've been apart of politics from King Richard to Benjamin Disraeli to Abraham Lincoln to Nelson Mandela. All the major wars, all the major cultural events, all of muggle history. I've seen and read and listened and been to it all."

"Look, Alistair." Hadrian said, sweeping his arm across the Great Hall. "The Magic community is in decline. While the Muggles made advances beyond our wildest dreams, we've been stuck in the time of your father. We have limitless potential. Limitless, and look at what we've done." he points to the ceiling. "We fly on broomsticks and carpets while muggles can cross the ocean quicker than we could. We have never gone to space, our art and literature is still confined to the ancient days. We've accepted civil rights for non-whites, LGBT people, and women before Muggles and yet we've yet to truly get past blood purity since our very inception as a people, We've gone alongside the muggles, but culturally we are behind."

He sighed as he stood up again. "We haven't even explored what magic can really do."

"Don't be absurd." Alistair snapped, his good mood souring. "How would you know?"

"Watch." Hadrian said. He stood up on the table, and walked off it. He kept walking, in midair, to Alistair. He reached his foot up and it look as if he were ascending a staircase. He jumped and it was like he fell, and he stopped before he hit the ground. "There's more." Hadrian said. He waved his hands, and the fire from the candles gathered around his hands. He spun it, morphed it into shapes, made it hotter, changed its color, and then made it dissipate into thin air, before taking the smoke that remained and turned it into water, then to ice, and boiled it away back into air. He shifted into a fox, then into a falcon, then into a large creature like Alistair had never seen called a 'Sasquatch'. He grew wings on his back, turned his skin into scales, then rocks, grew horns and a forked tongue, took a piece of wood and turned it into metal. He turned fire into electricity, and turned sand into liquid glass. All of this and more was performed, for an audience of one, front and center. The greatest show on earth. The entire thing lasted about twenty minutes, and Alistar was left speechless.

"Well?" he said.

"You're right." Alistair conceded. "You were right. It's all that can be said."

"So you see," Hadrian said. "We still can go so much further, and we won't."

Alistair did not see. "But why did you leave?" he asked. "Why didn't you share your discoveries with the world?"

Hadrian laughed. "Because I don't intend to share it." he said. "In fact, I don't intend for anyone to have it, myself included."

"What are you talking about?"

"I've decided that this world is over, Alistair, and everything in it needs to go. The Muggles have won, we've lost, and I intend to join them."

And he told him what he intended to do.

This time Alistair did pale.

"You can't be serious." he said. "What you intend to do is...it's wrong! It's evil!"

Hadrian laughed. "No, it's not evil." he said. "In fact, it would be better for everyone if I had my way. I can give you three examples." he said. He grabbed under the table and pulled out two black leather suitcases. "Example the first." he said. He unlatched the case, and opened it. Alistair gasped.

There was a corpse in Hadrian's hand.

He was gripping it by the skull, a wilted thing, barely skin and bones, with no eyes or recognizable organs, as if it had been charred like someone burned on their whole body. Alistar realized what it was instantly, and he couldn't believe it was true.

"That's a dementor. You killed a dementor." he said, speechless. "I...I didn't know it was possible."

Hadrian grinned. "There's more dead than my example one." he said. After he finished speaking, the corpse wilted further, and turned to ash in his hand. "Example the second." he said, and he opened the second case. He removed a thin, black rectangle, which Alistair recognized as what muggle-born students called a 'laptop' and he opened it, and pointed to the screen.

"He can't see you or hear you in there, unless I say so." Hadrian said. "Say hello."

Alistar was at his palest. "That...that can't be! He's dead! He actually is dead!" he said, almost screaming. "What's he doing in there? Get him out of there! You're torturing him!"

"Do you really think after what you've seen that I can't fight the Veil?" Hadrian asked, ignoring the screams of protest from the ghost. "It wasn't easy, but I caught him before he went in. Now, he lives in my computer."

"That's an outrage to every law of nature and magic and you know it!" Alistair said. "I may love you, Hadrian, but you cannot do this to someone else. It's wrong beyond all reckoning!"

"Example the third."

from his pocket, Hadiran produced a small vial from his right pocket, filled with a wispy substance like smoke, yet it moved and swirled like steam., and in his empty left hand a sword appeared, a katana, which seemed to slowly appear into existence, Alistair recognized, long and sharp. "My wand." Hadrian explained. He uncorked the vial.

From the vial poured a mist and a smoke, and as it went away, Alistair saw that there was another ghost, one like the Fat Friar, but a full priest rather than a monk. Hadrian drew his sword. "This is Reverend Tell." he explained as hr stuck the sheath in his belt. "Say, hello, Reverend."

"Hello." The reverend said. "It's nice to make your acquaintance."

"Now, Reverend, as a ghost, it means you were a wizard when alive, correct?" Hadrian asked. The Reverend nodded, his large nose and prominent eyebrows waggling as he did so. "Did you fear death?" Hadrian was circling the Reverend now, his sword at his side. The reverend nodded again. "Do you fear it now?" A shake of the head. "Would you like death?"

Another nod.

"Then I will give it to you. Do you have last words?"

The reverend spoke two.

"Thank you."

Hadrian slashed the ghost through the middle, splitting him in half. Alistair knew, from countless attempts by other ghosts (and himself, when no one was looking) that a ghost could not die, and it would only reform.

The Reverend, however, didn't. Instead, he seemed to dissolve in the air, until there was nothing left, not a trace of his form or his magic. He was gone. A ghost had been killed, sent to the other side. Hadrian pointed his sword and rested it on Alistair's neck.

"This sword is called the Bridge." he said. "It can cut through anything, and can send ghosts back to the Veil. Should I do this to you? Should I end all your suffering, all these centuries of knowing Helena would never love you?" He paused, looking upwards, thinking to himself. "No." he decided. "No, not yet, Oblivion is not for you, yet." he proclaimed, and sheathed his sword. "I will come back to this place, Alistair." he spoke. "I will only give you peace when you ask for it. You're not sorry yet."

"Hadrian, please, stop your plans. Come back to the wizarding world. It would love to have you back."

Hadrian laughed. "I have no intention of ever returning. I will fade into oblivion, and I'm taking magic with me." he said "If you want to stop me, I will be waiting. I'm not ready yet. I might be ready at the end of June, and I might be ready in ten years, but I will attack the British Isles first, and I will let you get ready. I doubt it will help you through: The age of magic is over. It's time to join the world."

Shadows grabbed his form, and the darkness enveloped him, and he was gone. In an instant, the candles were snuffed out from a blast of wind, and all was dark. Alistair floated still in the air, shaking. He had realized what he had just witnessed in full, and it could be summarized as this: Perhaps the most powerful wizard since Merlin, one who eclipsed Dumbledore, Grindelwald, Voldemort, Harry Potter, and the very founders themselves, had the intention to destroy the wizarding world.

The Entire wizarding world.

Good and bad.

Wizards would become muggles, magical creatures slaughtered, ghosts returned to the Veil, or to become what he had done to someone who didn't deserve that fate in the slightest. He was not Voldemort, who only wanted power and immortality. Hadrian forsook power, he wanted to abolish power, abolish magic. This was a threat to all of magic, a threat to magic itself as a concept. He flew through the floors and ceilings. He needed to consult some people.

II.

Harry James Potter could say, with confidence, that he was perhaps the happiest man in the world. He was 37, husband to a beautiful wife, father to three great children, head of the Aurors (which had really very little to do now, allowing him to spend most of his time with his family), and he was the most famous wizard in the world. While the constant pressures of fame weren't what he ever wanted, he had grown used to it, setting up Repulsion Charms around his property to ward of Magical Paparazzi, giving no interviews (though if a person had a random question and approached him on the street he wouldn't say no), and had plans to write a book when he turned forty. In all aspects, life was perfect.

Then, he went to bed that night.

He had a dream, one of those dreams again, like when Voldemort was alive, where he saw visions of what he was doing. Voldemort's status (most dead) was objective, and certain. Yet, some trace of him must somehow have remained, either in Harry or on the planet, because what Harry saw he knew was happening.

He was in the Forbidden Forest, watching as a figure, holding some long object that seemed to glow was walking through it. He saw the beasts of the forest move away from the light, and as he looked even closer, he saw it was a sword.

"I know you're there."

Harry turned. The figure had spoken to him. He was looking at him. Looking at him with pity, as if he were some sort of medical specimen, or a lab animal, a creature demeaned and stripped of power before some almighty being.

"I can't see you, but I can feel you. " the figure spoke again. "Harry Potter, the Boy who Lived."

Harry felt his blood chill.

"I must say that I congratulate you for killing Voldemort. You've gotten rid of the biggest hindrance for me. I had no idea he would actually use Horcruxes."

He kept walking, Harry inadvertently moving beside him. He felt sick, he wanted to flee. This was not a safe place. Harry saw Centaurs fleeing. "Smart." the figure said. "They know if they come near me they'll die. Enjoy life while you can."

Harry looked over at the man. "Who are you?" he wanted to ask, but he can't speak. He never had been able to in this dream-state, he realized. He is essentially a captive audience.

The figure stops.

"Found it."

He reaches down, and gently, he picks up a small object from the forest floor, and Harry realizes instantly what it is and he screams, screaming loudly, screaming as he wakes up, still screaming, as he sees in his mind the figure in the forest, and as Ginny holds him and tries to calm him, he sees the Resurrection Stone in the figures hands as he turns it over.

III.

"Albus! Severus! Wake up!"

"Oh my, has something happened?"

"It's three in the morning, so of course it has. We wouldn't be woken up at three in the morning for some sort of wild party."

The portraits of the two men who had become Headmaster of Hogwarts before Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape, found themselves awoken by the Bloody Baron making an enormous racket.

"What is is, Alistair?" Snape's portrait snarled.

"The Baron's real name is Alistair?" Dumbledore's portrait asked.

"You didn't know that?"

"I only know the knowledge of who I was painted at the time he was painted."

"So Albus never knew? Surprising."

"There's no time for this!" Alistair screamed. "We have an emergency!"

"What?" both portraits said.

"Hadrian has returned."

"Hadrian?" Albus said. "What good news!"

"Who is Hadrian?"

"You don't know who Hadrian was? Isn't that taught?"

"It's never been taught."

"Well, Hadrian was-"

"No! It's BAD! Not GOOD!" The baron bellowed.

"Bad?" Albus said. "By all accounts, Hadrian was quite virtuous, even in regards to his unfortunate circumstances."

"I don't understand why I was woken up when I cannot even contribute to this conversation" Snape said.

"There is a reason, if you two would just stop talking!" The baron roared. Both portraits fell silent. "As for what I was saying, Hadrian has returned, and he is not like he was a thousand years ago. He has come to destroy the wizarding world." Alistair explained. "Not just the British Isles and the continent, but the entire wizarding world. He's gained knowledge since he disappeared. He can kill dementors, send ghosts through the Veil, and, what he's done..." Alistair shuddered. "He has declared war on all of magic, and we are first on his list."

Dumbledore paused.

"Is what you say true, Alistair?"

A nod.

"What does this mean, Albus?" Snape asked.

"It means that a very large storm is coming, and that we have very little time to prepare for it."

"He wasn't clear how long it would take him, but..." Alistair shuddered. "He doesn't plan on doing it alone, that's what will delay him."

"What's he doing?"

"He's gathering resources."

Dumbledore paused again.

"Oh dear."

IV.

Atop Stonehenge, just an hour before sunrise, Hadrian sat with his laptop on the highest stone, looking at the sky. The laptop was open, and he looked down at it.

"Tell me, my friend." he said. "How goes your progress?"

Text appeared on screen. He read it. "Give it time. You will succeed." Hadrian comforted. "Of that I assure you."

Hadrian looked up at the sky. "You may wonder why we're here." he commented. He read more text. "I've done some looking into the stars, he said, as he saw a shooting star. "It took a lot of work, but the first of our allies will be found here, and all we have to do is wait for 3...2...1..."

There was a sound of flames roaring, and what looked to be a large meteor zoomed slightly overhead from Hadrian, and landed on the ground, skidding and flipping over, before it went into a steady slide, eventually stopping about a mile away. Lights and electricity seemed to come out of the meteor, so bright that Hadrian could see what exactly had fallen clearly. He took the laptop, folded it, and jumped down.

"Let's go meet a friend." he said, and he walked to the object, his sword in one hand, the laptop in the other, and he hurried briskly across the field.

_Well, I've done it. My hiatus from fanfiction is over. While there probably won't be frequent updates (I'm working on original fiction and school, mostly). There will be updates as they come._


End file.
